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<title>A Minor Accident by weepingredemption</title>
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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25671529">A Minor Accident</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/weepingredemption/pseuds/weepingredemption'>weepingredemption</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Cursed (TV 2020)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 04:34:30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,346</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25671529</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/weepingredemption/pseuds/weepingredemption</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>You return home from the markets one afternoon to see your chambers in complete disarray. Leave it to the former Weeping Monk to create utter chaos in your home.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Squirrel | Percival/The Weeping Monk | Lancelot (Cursed), The Weeping Monk | Lancelot (Cursed)/Original Character(s), The Weeping Monk | Lancelot (Cursed)/You</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>59</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>A Minor Accident</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>You stared dumbfoundedly at your husband and son, arms crossed over your chest as their guilt-ridden faces stared back, rooted in place. Their expressions resembled like having an arrow pointed at them, and rightly so. Returning to your chambers, only to find it in complete disarray with furniture turned over and some of your favorite decorative collections shattered to pieces on the floor, was not something you wanted to see from your visit in the markets.</p><p>You were not happy.</p><p>Lancelot cleared his throat from where he stood – stood – on the couch. “You have… returned.” He speaks hesitantly, cautiously, because he knows he is in trouble. To be in trouble with you would make any man wish he was faced against the Red Paladins.</p><p>“Yes. I have, haven’t I?” you replied dryly.</p><p>Lancelot and Percival shared a look, conveying a silent conversation. The young boy’s shoulders slump in defeat as Lancelot gingerly stepped off the furniture, minding his footing around the strewn cushions and broken shards. He came over to Percival and picked him up and sat his feet on the floor. In the year and a half you have been with your husband, you were the one person he allowed his emotions to surface from the depths of the box he tried to keep them in. Joy. Sadness. Grief. Shame. But never fear. You had never seen the Weeping Monk fearful or unnerved and you wondered if he ever felt those emotions.</p><p>Today, as he turned to face you, the answer to your unasked question was given. Yes, he certainly could feel those emotions.</p><p>“How was your trip to the markets?” Percival innocently asked, hoping to dissuade you from your displeasure. He was quite good at it, being the sweet and charming little boy he was, and he knew it. He also knew you had a soft spot for him in your heart. His charms would not work on you this day, and he knew that well.</p><p>“Uneventful. Most stands were closed but I managed to find a few items.” You remembered the bag of said goods that were on the floor after you had dropped them from utter shock when you walked through the door. You sighed and picked the bag up and held it out to Percival. “I bought you a few things. Some fruit, your favorite bread, and sweets. Why don’t you have a snack before dinner while I speak with Lancelot?”</p><p>Percival quietly approached and took the bag from your offered fingers. He hesitated to leave and looked up at you with shameful eyes. “Don’t be angry, Y/N. It’s not his fault. It was my idea. Blame me.”</p><p>“Percival,” Lancelot murmured.</p><p>Your heart shattered into a million pieces. Nothing more pained both you and Lancelot more than to know Percival puts the blame on himself, believing you to be angry. He had endured enough in his short life.</p><p>You crouched down to his level, placed your hand on his cheek, and kissed his forehead. “I am not angry with you Percival,” you said softly, before your eyes flickered to your husband and glared at him. “It is your idiot of a father I am displeased with.”</p><p>Lancelot narrowed his eyes, choosing to look at the ground and say nothing.</p><p>“Are you going to kill him?” Percival blurted. The sincere concern he bore made you laugh.</p><p>“No. He is too useful. I like having him around,” you lightly jested. “Now, go on. Go eat a snack. We will join you shortly.”</p><p>Percival scampered off to the other room with his bag of goods, seemingly in better spirits. He no longer was concerned about the matter and didn’t bother to sneak a glance at Lancelot, his attention fully focused on something clearly far more important.</p><p>“I will need to teach that boy the importance of loyalty,” Lancelot muttered under his breath.</p><p>“And I will need to teach you the importance of a kept home.” You crossed your arms again. “would you care to explain why our chambers look as though the Weeping Monk swept through it?”</p><p>Lancelot cringed at the reference to his former alias. That is how he knew you were greatly upset.</p><p>“It is a long story.”</p><p>“Oh, believe me, husband of mine. I have plenty of time.”</p><p>Lancelot’s shoulders dropped as though a weight rested on his them. He took a deep breath and very seriously declared the reason their home was a mess. “The floor was lava.”</p><p>Well, that was not something you expected to hear.</p><p>You were at a loss for words. “What?”</p><p>“The floor was lava,” Lancelot repeated. “I was convinced I would be safe on the armchair, but it was quickly dissolving and had I not made the hasty retreat I did, I would have surely perished.”</p><p>You bit your lip as laughter bubbled in your chest, threatening to burst in a loud and heavy fit. For the sake of his pride, you did not say anything.</p><p>“Then I jumped and intended to land on the couch. I miscalculated, the armchair tipped over, and I was slightly burned when my feet touched the lava.”</p><p>A soft gasp left your lips, a poor attempt to conceal your laughter. Any anger you previously felt was gone, replaced with amusement and adoration. Lancelot, however, misunderstood your gasp for worry.</p><p>“Do not worry. I made it to safety,” he reassured tenderly. “The couch was not safe for very long, I am sad to confess. The cushions from the furniture were used as stones to cross over the lava. They were not strong enough to withstand its strength. In our panic we knocked into some of your vases.”</p><p>You were certain you would collapse from sheer laughter.</p><p>“I did not make it back to our starting point in time. And so, I perished,” Lancelot finished his tale with sorrowful tone.</p><p>Between the story and his serious tone, as though he had truly perished in this pretend lava, you could no longer hold back your amusement. Laughter erupted from your lips and you had to grip the wall for support as your stomach soon ached. But Lancelot – poor, dear Lancelot watched you with confusion and surprise; confused as to why you are laughing and surprised you were reacting this way. You laughed so hard tears streamed down your face, and he had difficulty discerning whether you were still angry or completely hysterical.</p><p>“I…do not know if you are laughing or crying.”</p><p>“I am laughing!” You managed to get out through gasps. “My goodness, Lancelot. I have never seen you so serious aside from battle.”</p><p>Lancelot’s face softened at the reminder of the game Percival had begged him play. It was an old village game he and the children used to play, he had told him. It is fun, he had said. The once fierce and battle-hardened Weeping Monk could not say no to the request. “It was important to Percival, and so it was important to me.”</p><p>Your laughter having now subsided and mostly recovered from your outburst, you were able to focus better. Your heart swelled at his words and you could not find it in yourself to be angry with him or the state of your chambers. “And you are a wonderful father to Percival because of it.”</p><p>Lancelot gave you an inquisitive look. “You are not…angry?”</p><p>“No, my love,” you answered softly as you crossed the room to stand in front of him. Cupping his cheeks, you gave him a smile that was reserved for him and only him, full of love and admiration. “I will admit, this is a bit of a mess we will have to clean up but I can never be cross with a man who gives our son as much attention and love as you do.” You leaned forward and pressed a lingering kiss on his lips, and when you pulled away, you grinned. “Next time, though, please do not involve our furniture.”</p><p>Lancelot chuckled, his arms wrapping around your waist. “I believe that is something we both can agree on.”</p>
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